Daddy Issues
by peterparkersgirlfriend
Summary: Peter's mother had always claimed that one day, her little Star-lord would be reunited with his father. Of course, Peter had never believed her - until now, that is. Armed with new information about his father, will Peter finally be able to unlock the mystery of his heritage? And will he like what he finds? Post-movie AU. Spoilers abound. Involves comic book concepts.
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY, OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS, CONCEPTS, PLACES, AND ANYTHING MARVEL-RELATED. BASICALLY, I OWN NOTHING. EVERYTHING BELONGS TO MARVEL AND DISNEY. **

**A/N: So I just watched Guardians of the Galaxy for the second time, and after catching up on the comic books and doing a lot of research, I decided to make my own little sequel to the movie. The idea's probably been done before. Just PLEASE give mine a try!**

**I really just want to address the identity of Peter's father. I'll be introducing a few characters, places, and concepts from the comics to do that - with my own spin, of course. Don't yell at me because some things I write are non-canonical in the comics- I know. Every concept that I introduce (or choose not to introduce) is to make the story seem logical, even if those concepts aren't technically canon.  
**

**SPOILER ALERT IF YOU DID NOT SEE GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY **

** The story will probably end up being an AU once the second movie actually comes around, since James Gunn supposedly confirmed that Peter's father in the comics will not be his dad in the movies. Anyone got any theories on that, by the way? **

**Anyway, this is the prologue. I have to establish some characters, so just bear with me. It'll get better from here on out! **

**WARNINGS: THERE IS SOME CURSING, BUT MOST SWEARS ARE REPLACED BY SWEARING SYMBOLS (comic fans know what these are). Very slight suggestive content inside.**

* * *

TERRAN TIME: 1988

Explosions rocked the planet Spartax's atmosphere, painting the sky with plumes of smoke and smoldering dust. The impending assault caused a chorus of screams from the planet's surface, sounding eerily like a collective wail.

Once, the city below had looked like a utopia - a metropolis of gleaming, domed structures and skyscrapers sprawling over lush mountains and valleys. Now, however, repeated attacks from an invading force had rendered it a partially burnt sea of buildings. Nonetheless, the damage was far from catastrophic, and the planet would definitely recover. But even the small damages would inspire a fierce vengeance from the Spartoi citizens.

Nearly a century had passed since anyone had attacked the capital of the Spartax Empire - an empire that boasted hundreds of colonies and planetary systems under its jurisdiction. The very idea of war seemed foolish given the Empire's long and successful reign.

But their many territories had been the reason behind this airstrike. Another, belligerent race called Ariguans had decided to invade, eager to claim Spartoi resources and lands for their own.

The Ariguans were conquerors with no true home planet to call their own. Thus, they would enslave any planet that they desired and managed to defeat. In this practice, the rest of the galaxy had come to view the Ariguans as truly despicable creatures...creatures that _needed_ to be destroyed. Unfortunately, their technology was quite advanced, and their numerous soldiers fought with a strong brutality that was hard to overcome.

But the Spartoi were a resilient people - they had not thrived for millennia only to be defeated by a group of measly, reptilian nomads, no matter how savage or populous they were.

Effectively protecting their home, Imperial ships weaved between relentless blasts, resolutely pursuing the formidable force of enemy vessels-a force that was very slowly, but surely, diminishing. Both fleets - Spartoi and enemy alike- flew by at unbelievable speeds, almost nonchalantly breaking the sound barrier with a deafening crack, even as they swerved to avoided enemy fire.

One particular imperial pilot fought with astounding skill, managing to incapacitate dozens of enemy pods with a few blasts while partaking in stunning evasive maneuvers. His name was J'son, former crown prince of the Spartoi Empire.

Eleven years prior, he had been wrongly disgraced as a traitor to his civilization - framed for a crime he had not committed. Thus, his title had been stripped, along with his claim to the throne and his right to live on his home planet.

But a year later, the war had reared its ugly head, and his father - the Emperor Eson-had called him back, unwilling to face this new threat without his best soldier. And J'son _was_ quite a fierce warrior and strategist; some could argue that the war had turned in Spartax's favor simply because of J'son's careful planning and actions.

Throughout the ten year campaign against these reptilian beasts, J'son had fought hard to restore his own honor-and possibly his own birthright to the throne. He knew that if he ultimately brought the planet victory, his father could see that he had never even _dreamt_ of conspiring against the empire, like he had been so wrongly accused of.

But then again...if he failed to regain his title, he _did_ have a life to return to somewhere else. A life that he had been very reluctant to leave, even given his desire to reclaim the throne.

Though he tried his best not to think about the distant planet he had called home for a short time. The warm memories distracted him from the matters at hand-namely, the life-and-death battles raging in front of his very eyes.

And this-this was the final battle: the last-ditch Ariguan assault on the Spartoi capital. Ten years of relentless conflict had waned the Ariguan forces, and now only a few thousand remained. But like the Spartoi, the Ariguans were not prepared to surrender, even though the latter faced certain defeat. They intended to injure the Empire as much as possible, even if it entirely destroyed their own race.

Just as the Imperial forces began picking off the few, remaining individual Ariguan pods, a shadow blocked out the sun, blanketing the city in an ominous silhouette.

The Ariguan mothership had entered the airspace above them, finally joining the intense, though rapidly concluding battle. It was a hulking mass, humming from the huge amounts of energy it both produced and consumed. J'son mentally remarked that on Earth (or Terra, as the rest of the galaxy called it), people would say its honeycomb framework made it reminiscent of a giant beehive. The only difference was that no workers exited the hive to defend their home - all the soldiers had been destroyed, save for the Ariguan leaders that resolved to continue fighting a losing battle. With the mothership involved, the Ariguans were risking their entire culture and civilization. J'son suspected that every member of their race had fought in the war - women and children included. The few, last Ariguans were probably in this mothership, desperate to face death instead of the shame of surrender. That was the Ariguans' savage philosophy, anyway.

But despite J'son's bitterness toward them, he could understand their desire to be defeated in a blaze of glory instead of a surrender-and he was certainly happy to oblige them. A decade of ceaseless fighting had made him eager for revenge. Besides, the ship was still a threat as it fired countless energy blasts at his fellow pilots, though few made their mark.

He banked and pitched his ship upwards, aiming his guns and missiles at the mothership's hull. The other Imperial ships soon followed his lead, flocking behind him in a perfect, triangular formation.

In truth, it was J'son's father's place to lead the renewed attack, but seeing as no one else was taking initiative, J'son had taken the responsibility upon himself. Where was his father, anyway? He was supposed to be fighting alongside his soldiers.

But with no time to think about that now, J'son allowed his men a few seconds to find a strategic position in the air. Then, with a voice tight with anticipation, he screamed a single word into his com-link: "Fire!"

On his cue, the sky erupted into a solid wall of fire, the missiles and blasts combining to form one assaulting force. The flames soon blanketed the invading vessel, though its shields protected it from the attack...for now, at least.

The fleet continued firing at the mothership's hull, and eventually, one of J'son's shots breached the vessel's shields. Seeing the opportunity, the Spartoi directed their shots at the opening, and something important caught ablaze from the ship's inside.

His ship's sensors detected intense energy increases, and he ordered his men to fly out of range. The call had ultimately been a good one - the mothership exploded, the force and heat of the combustion disintegrating the metal and debris.

Over his ship's com-link, J'son could hear his fellow pilots erupting into cheers, and he soon joined in. The war finally over!

"Congratulations, father," he communicated over the system, hoping that the emperor was listening. "You have just won your war."

After a long pause, there was a response over the line-but it was not from J'son's father. The voice belonged to a man named Thayzen, who was a member of the Emperor's personal guard.

"J'son...there's something you need to know…"

* * *

J'son sat in his bedroom, the lights dulled down to their lowest setting and the curtains closed tightly. In the darkness, he proceeded to mull over everything that had recently occurred.

One second, he had been happy in the arms of the woman he loved. The next, he was off to fight a war for the people who had banished him. And then finally, he was being told that his father was dead, and that he was to become emperor as soon as possible. How had things changed so fast?

Thayzen's voice still rung in his ears, like a haunting echo.

"_Your father's ship was taken out by an Ariguan pod," _Thayzen had told him. "_I'm sorry, J'son. There was nothing we could do. We didn't want to tell you until the battle was over...for fear of compromising your concentration." _

The fleet's cheers had quickly died down, replaced by a deafening sound of white noise. The emperor was dead? How?

Despite the new information, the realization had not set in until J'son had reached the ground, parking his ship in the Spartoi battle hangar. The Council of Ministers - the planet's parliament - had greeted him there almost immediately, already prepared to address the Emperor's death.

"_Your father knew that fighting in the war was dangerous," _one councilman had said. "_But he fought anyway, despite our wishes. We are very sorry for your loss, J'son. Eson's death will bring us sorrow for years to come."_

Indeed, the premature death of a Spartoi Emperor was uncommon. The planet's inhabitants had particularly long lifespans, and a monarch's reign could last over a century if circumstances allowed. But Eson had ruled for barely 50 years, during ten of which J'son had been banished. Those ten years of possible bonding and companionship were now lost-forever.

"_Of course, Eson was quite wise. He made arrangements before heading into battle...just for a situation such as this," _another councilman had added quickly, afraid that they were inadvertently insulting the royal family. "_In the event of his death, he ordered for your titles to be restored. Your valor in battle has proven your undying loyalty, and the position of Emperor is yours to accept."_

"_He admitted that he had been wrong in banishing you," _the third councilman had continued, placing a withered, comforting hand on J'son's shoulder.

Rejecting their consolation, J'son had shaken his head and pulled away from the group. "_I am...grateful for the reconsideration. But I need some time to accept this. If you'll excuse me-"_

In his disoriented stumbling, he had somehow found his way into his royal quarters - quarters that had long been off-limits to him during his banishment. But the entire empire now knew of his upcoming coronation, so the guards did not stop him.

And now...here J'son sat, utterly overwhelmed. Emperor? He was only 35 years old - way too young to be an emperor. And without his father's guidance...how could he lead an entire empire on his own?

But that was not all he worried about. As emperor, J'son would probably gain many foes - foes that would do anything to gain leverage and power over him.

His mind wandered back to Meredith - his biggest regret and greatest joy. Was his newfound power going to put her in danger? Or even worse, was he putting his half-Spartoi, half-Terran son in danger as well? The boy must have been ten years old by now...growing up without a father. He could only hope that Meredith was raising him right.

He had met her during his banishment, when J'son had accidentally crash-landed on Earth. She had nursed him back to health, and despite his better judgment, he had fallen in love and even fathered a child with her.

If the war had not interfered with his plans, he probably would have stayed with her for the remainder of his life. But he could not deny Eson his aid in battle, so he had left her, even though she was carrying his child. It was one of the hardest decisions he had ever made.

However, if the war ended and J'son's title was still revoked, he had sworn that he would return to her and raise their son on Earth...like she had wanted.

But now...he had a responsibility to his people. He could not live a simple Terran life...could not even live a simple _Spartoi_ life anymore.

And if anything, he had just brought an immense amount of danger into his estranged family's life. J'son was certain that _someone_ would find out about them eventually...whether it be the Badoon, the longtime rivals of the empire, or the mischievous Skrulls - no...he simply could not let it happen!

On Earth, Meredith and his son were unprotected - too far out of his reach. He needed to bring them to Spartax...quickly, discreetly, and safely. But how? Leaving by himself would be too suspicious, which could just make matters worse. That left only one option: to hire someone else to fetch his family.

Rising from his chair, J'son walked over to the console by his bed. "Connect me to Yondu of the Ravagers. Disguise the call's origin," he ordered, and the technology responded. He knew that Ravagers were dishonorable cretins, determined to steal or sell any contraband that they could find. But at the same time, they practiced some of the best discretion and confidentiality in the galaxy, and that was what J'son needed right now. Besides, what use could they have for a Terran mother and her son?

A blue, scaly face soon filled a nearby screen, its red, narrowed eyes scrutinizing the unlit room. The darkness and technological facade had effectively obscured J'son's identity. Hopefully, Yondu would never know that he was serving the soon-to-be Spartoi emperor.

"I have a commission for you, if you're interested," J'son told the man on the screen. "I'm willing to pay generously for it too."

Yondu's mouth stretched into a grin that revealed pointy teeth, some of which were made of metal. His response was drawn out with a foreign drawl, but it nevertheless betrayed his eagerness for a hefty payday. "Sounds like my kinda job. What d'ya need?"

_**To be continued...**_


	2. Heroics

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N: Next chapter! Nothing with J'son is happening just yet. I wanted to establish Peter's PoV (which will be the main PoV in the story, though I will switch to third person when the scenes don't involve Peter). Plus, I figured you'd want to see what the Guardians were doing after the movie.**

**Also, Star-lord will only be using the powers seen in the first movie (which is basically just the whole energy resistance thing on top of peak human condition). Things to remember: this is an AU, so I'm pretty much ignoring that Peter's father is supposed to be "ancient" and "never seen before." Otherwise, I couldn't even involve J'son the way I want. **

**I did my best to use alien races from the comics. A lot of research was involved with that, so if you are not familiar with the Badoon or the Shi'ar, don't worry. Just know that they're different alien cultures.**

**I know that there are other fanfics involving Peter's father out there, but mine will be different, so please just stick with it. The next chapter is when things start getting really interesting. ****Also, there is a TON of action in this chapter. So if that's what you're looking for, dive right in. There are some hints of Peter/Gamora as well, but nothing too strong.**

**By the way, reviews are REALLY appreciated. Tell me what I could be doing better, at least from a writing standpoint. If you don't like the plot, that's fine, but don't yell at me for writing it.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy! **

* * *

PRESENT DAY:

_~Peter Quill's (aka Star-lord's) Point of View~_

I'm not saying I'm the type to judge character based off looks - I mean, look at me. If I went up to a random stranger, and told them that I was a newly-appointed "guardian" of the galaxy or whatever, his or her first instinct would be to laugh.

To everyone else, Terrans (or half Terrans, in my case I guess) were a complete joke; we were too frail and primitive. The idea that one had contributed significantly to Ronan the Accuser's downfall, let alone wielded an Infinity Gem, was pretty ridiculous to them.

And even if they _could_ believe it, I just didn't fulfill alien standards of a "hero-type." Unfortunately for me, these alien assholes had never seen the movie _Superman_. If they had, I'd bet they'd see the Christopher Reeve vibe I had going for me, instead of the "douchebag" sort of vibe that they perceived.

Anyway, if I _was_ the type to judge character based off looks, I could pretty much say that the Badoon, as a species, were bad news. They were green-skinned, scaly, hunched over little devils, with entirely black eyes and pointy ears protruding from the sides of their misshapen faces. So yeah...I could honestly say that the Badoon were ugly as hell.

And I don't know - I had this weird notion that some people are ugly for a reason. I mean, I am _definitely_ not saying that every ugly person is bad. But I didn't get _my_ good looks for nothing. That's right...Peter Quill was _born_ to be a hero. And then there's Gamora, my fellow Guardian. She could have easily looked like her screw-loose adoptive sister, Nebula, who was basically just a mess of cybernetic enhancements. Instead, Gamora was really good-looking - like _really_ good looking - so that's gotta be a bit of a reflection on her personality, right?

Anyway, when I heard that the Badoon were illegally hijacking Shi'ar scientific outposts near Strontia to add to their own empire, it wasn't exactly a surprise. Like I said, ugly and mean are two traits that go too well together.

And since we're the "Guardians of the Galaxy" or whatnot, it's our apparent _job_ to stop hideous jackasses like the Badoon. Thus, _we had abandoned our hopes and dreams to face our grim destinies in the Shi'ar galaxy_.

Okay, okay...it wasn't _that_ big of a hassle to be honest. We had been pretty eager to go, actually. The universe had been pretty boring without Ronan to mess with, and since we were _technically_ not supposed to break the law anymore, our options for fun had become pretty limited. Beating up Badoon terrorists seemed like a great distraction.

So yeah...we had pretty much rushed there from our base in Knowhere, traveling as fast as possible.

"Knock, knock!" I said, rapping my fist against the metal, security doors that effectively closed off the Strontian moon outpost from outside interference. We had landed on the dark side of the moon only a few minutes ago, and though we had originally planned to do something unoriginal like "sneak-in," we decided that a dramatic entrance would be a better approach.

Unfortunately for the innocent people inside, the Shi'ar government had their hands essentially tied in this situation. The Badoon were holding their people hostage within the compound, and if any sort of Shi'ar vessel approached the moon, then the terrorist would start killing civilians.

The Guardians of the Galaxy on the other hand? Well, my ship was a lot cooler than any Shi'arian cruiser, and we weren't exactly representatives of their government. So that pretty much left the door wide open for us to interfere.

Given the lack of response from the inside, I knocked on the door again. "Did anyone order a pizza?" I asked sarcastically, ignoring the confused looks that my fellow Guardians gave me. These alien idiots _never_ understood a good Terran pop culture reference.

By now, the Badoon probably should have sent someone to deal with us, or at least fired a few shots in our direction. Our arrival had probably thrown them into disarray, since this little hijacking was supposed to be an exclusively Shi'ar/Badoon affair. If other Ekpires were getting involved, then they assumed that this was escalating into some sort of interplanetary incident. And that could spell trouble for the entire Badoon Empire.

Of course, we were really just an independent group of assholes - a bunch of misfits that had a bad habit of sticking their noses in the wrong places...but the Badoon didn't know that. They wouldn't make a move until they figured out our intentions.

"Well...they're not being very friendly," I remarked, shaking my head at the sealed doors as I put on my helmet. "Rocket, let's teach these jerks some manners."

The genetically-altered raccoon aimed his enormous, uniquely-designed gun at the metal doors. "My pleasure, Quill."

Smirking, he fired his weapon, the blast throwing off shockwaves of force and palpable heat. When the smoke cleared, a huge tear in the metal became apparent. It looked like something had raked a huge claw against the doors, gouging an opening for us.

How a little raccoon could cause so much destruction, most people couldn't imagine. But this was Rocket we were talking about, and I had learned pretty quickly that destruction was his specialty. Any creature that spent his time designing insanely powerful guns - especially ones that could tear through two feet of solid metal like fabric - should not be messed with, no matter how small that creature was.

We entered the compound, stepping over the bodies of some pretty well-cooked Badoon thugs. They had probably been taken out by Rocket's blast.

A long hallway stretched out in front of us. It was illuminated only by flashing, red strobe lights, which were accompanied by a particularly annoying warning alarm. Why the rest of the lights had gone out, I didn't know. Maybe Rocket's gun had also severed some important wiring. Either way, the hallway was looking pretty ominous, and I did my best to break the foreboding atmosphere.

"Honey!" I called jokingly, "We're home!"

Now, saying that might have seemed like a bad idea, but there was really no reason _not_ to joke around. It wasn't like we were sneaking around-we had just blown a hole into the side of the compound, for God's sake. They definitely knew we were here. Might as well entertain ourselves along the way.

We proceeded down the hallway with Gamora taking the lead, and Groot covering our backs. All of our weapons - guns, daggers, and branches alike - were drawn and pointed toward the end of the corridor, ready for any sudden attacks. But none had come...none _yet_, anyway.

"I do not understand," Drax said in response to my recent taunt, his eyes nonetheless glued to the end of the hallway. "This is not our home, and what is 'honey'?"

Drax wasn't exactly well-versed in sarcasm or metaphor, and he certainly wouldn't understand a human concept like the existence of honey, or its second purpose as an endearing nickname. So his reaction was nothing if not expected.

Rocket was apparently exasperated by Drax's lack of understanding. I heard him mumble, "Moron," under his breath, but luckily, Drax did not hear him. Otherwise, we'd be fighting among ourselves instead of fighting the Badoon.

Or the insult could have been directed at me. Who knows?

Soon enough, we had reached the end of the hallway, and the compound opened up into a large atrium. We had not seen so much as a hint of attacking Badoon warriors, so what was going on?

"We should have met some resistance by now," Gamora remarked suspiciously. "I do not like this."

"Is there _anything_ you like?" I asked with a nervous smile, glancing around just as suspiciously. She was right, of course. This place was supposed to be overrun with Badoon. Where were they?

I saw Gamora smirk, but her hands tightened on her machine gun, which indicated the true tension she felt. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

I was about to respond when something fell on top of me, pinning me to the ground. Whatever it was, it probably should have broken my spine with its weight, but I guess I was more durable than the average Terran. As I tried to catch the breath that had been so rudely knocked out of me, I came face-to-face with a really, really fugly Badoon - it had dropped from the ceiling to ambush me.

"Stupid little insect," it hissed, its breath smelling super disgusting. I would come up with some sort of simile to describe it, but there is nothing I could compare that horrible odor to. Besides, a metaphor would just go over Drax's head. All you need to know is that it made me want to throw up, okay?

Anyway, as I was all-to-slowly registering what was happening, the Badoon pointed a gun at my face, preparing to fire at me as its arms and legs pressed mine into the ground. However, before it could shoot, a branch burst through its side, and the Badoon went limp, the gun sliding from its hand.

Lucky for me, Groot had impaled the Badoon warrior, and he used his extended limb to fling my attacker away from me. The Badoon hit a nearby wall with a sickening SMACK before skidding lifelessly to the floor.

"Thanks, Groot!" I exclaimed, jumping to my feet despite the bruises that stung my body.

In response, Groot gave me a pleased expression and replied (as always) "I am Groot."

I assumed that he meant "_You're welcome_," or something of the sort, but there was no time to decipher the hidden meaning of those three simple words. Hundreds of Badoon were soon dropping to the floor, weapons at the ready.

Smart little bastards - sticking to the ceiling like that. They had probably prepared this ambush since we landed on Strontia's moon.

Okay, okay. _I guess_ we could have planned this whole "attack" thing better. Maybe sneaking in would have been a smarter choice - maybe. But everyone _always_ "sneaks in" - it was so unoriginal! Besides, I doubted some of my fellow Guardians (*cough* Drax *cough*) would be able to remain discreet, you know?

Meanwhile, Rocket had switched to another gun - one that was better suited for close-combat. He released a hail of bullets into the crowd of dropping Badoon warriors, and many of them were really, _really_ dead by the time they reached the ground. Simultaneously, Gamora and Drax were shooting/slashing their way through the few Badoon that had actually survived their fall...needless to say they hadn't survived for long.

"Can you guys handle this?" I asked, now contributing shots from my Quad blaster - all of which were very well-placed, if I may say so myself. "We need to find the hostages."

"Are you kidding? In a few minutes, these guys'll be deader than Drax's personality!" Rocket said happily as he continued firing (Drax luckily ignored this). He pulled his other gun - the one that he used to demolish the doors - off his back and tossed it to me. I caught it with some difficulty, seeing as the thing was like a hundred pounds. I briefly wondered how Rocket could carry it around, especially with the rest of the arsenal that he kept with him.

But I really didn't have time to figure it out, so I turned to Groot. "You're with me, bud. C'mon!"

Groot and I used a blaster/branch combo to cut through a horde of approaching Badoon, which cleared a path to a nearby door. As we ran forward, I blasted through the metal doors with Rocket's gun. The greater distance created a little less destruction, which was good. If the hostages were on the other side, we didn't want them harmed by our assault.

We soon found ourselves in another, larger hall, where a group of several thousand Shi'arians sat on their knees. Their hands were placed on their heads, and a few of them were crying.

Surrounding the cluster were armed Badoon warriors, all watching the hostages with cautious vigilance. Our arrival seemed to startle them - especially Groot's, who could seem quite terrifying.

Of course, if you were friends with him, you'd know that he was pretty much the biggest softy in the galaxy, but that's not something you tell the jackasses you're about to send to their graves.

Before they could really react, I switched to my Quad blaster and carefully picked off a dozen or so guards. Eventually, though, the rest of them got wise and started firing back. Luckily, Groot had expanded his arm-branch into a blunt sort of shield, and he covered me from the blasts.

My advice: If you ever have the chance to befriend a large, sentient, arboreal humanoid, I suggest you take it. Seriously.

A few seconds later, Groot and I lunged to opposite sides of the hall. While he attacked a row of Badoon warriors, swatting them away from the hostages, I activated my jet boot attachments, which launched me several feet into the air. From the high ground, I was able to pick off the remaining guards, thus sending those selfish jerks to an early grave.

I had no regrets about that, either. After all, what kind of sick bastards held defenseless people hostage like that?

Between the Kree, the Badoon, and the Shi'ar - the latter of which especially, since they had done nothing to save these people - I was starting to become really, really pissed off at all these bureaucratic empires. They just didn't care about anything except for their own power agendas.

But then again...if they weren't such complete asswipes, the Guardians of the Galaxy wouldn't _need_ to exist, now would it?

A few minutes later, all the Badoon in the hall had been eliminated, and the hostages were freed. I dropped to the ground and dissolved my helmet to address the people in front of me. In truth, I didn't know what to say to these civilians. Was I supposed to comfort them or something? Maybe give them instructions for a safe and rapid journey out of the compound?

Instead, I did what I normally did: ruined the moment.

"I'm not saying you all _have_ to thank me…but you _probably_ should," I told them jokingly, running my hand through my hair.

Groot looked at me with an expectant expression, saying - you guessed it - "I am Groot."

"Him too, of course. Maybe you guys should form a little line to express your personal gratitude, or-" I winked at a particularly attractive Shi'arian woman, and helped her to her feet, "you could just give me your contact information and thank me in private."

"Keep it in your pants, Quill," a snide voice said from behind me. Rocket.

I turned to see that he, Gamora, and Drax had entered the hall, their skin and clothes covered with green blood. I assumed that the blood belonged to the Badoon warriors they had recently dispatched, since none of them seemed injured in the least.

Gamora saw me and the Shi'arian woman, and as our eyes met, a sour look twisted her features. Sure, you may be thinking: _Oh, she's jealous. She's so in love with you. _

Ha. Yeah right. That expression was far from an indication of jealousy. Its real implication probably was something like this: "_Peter, you're such a pig. This is exactly why I don't want to be with you_."

But hey, most of my life was spent working for space pirates who preached that sentiment was the enemy - that mushy stuff like love didn't even exist. I never really gave a second thought to acting this way around women - at this point, it was my nature. And yeah, I know; if I really cared about Gamora, I'd work harder to "win her heart" or whatever BS people called "wooing" these days.

Old habits die hard, though. So we'd both have to wait and see.

Suddenly, one of the Shi'arian hostages interrupted my reverie, which was probably a good thing. I hated thinking about mushy stuff.

"I don't understand. Who the hell are you guys? And what are you doing here?"

I turned to the speaker, who stood at the center of the crowd. As far as I could tell, he was middle-aged, and his features betrayed terror. I didn't blame him for feeling that way, either. He was probably worried that he had fallen from the hands of one group of criminals to another.

"No need to fear, citizens," I told them, feeling proud as my friends moved to stand beside me. "We're the Guardians of the Galaxy, and we're here to protect you."

_**To be continued...**_


	3. Past Sins

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N: Alright, here's when things start getting interesting. The two previous chapters were meant to build rapport, but now the actual plot is starting. Hooray! **

**So, you're going to notice some really interesting similarities and (more commonly) dissimilarities between Peter and his father. I'm not gonna spoil anything, but you can expect some conflict between them. **

**Everything from here on out is "Present Day," so I hope no one gets confused. **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Meanwhile, on Spartax, a man sat upon a throne, his knuckles turning white with the force in which he clasped the chair's arms. He was actually in his early sixties, but something about his full, boxed beard and wise demeanor suggested that he was even older. However, his apparent seniority was a ruse - he had ruled for only 26 years. And during that time, maturity, responsibility, and loss had been forced upon him. The process had embittered him, but it had also made him a strong leader, which is what his people needed during this time of great unrest.

As the esteemed Emperor of Spartax, the now-older J'son expected to be treated with respect, loyalty, and - if necessary - fear. And usually, everyone met his expectations, foreigners and subjects included.

It had been a long time since he had dealt with personal matters, though. After his "business" with Yondu, J'son had thrown himself headfirst into reforms, expansion, and foreign affairs. For years, there had been no separation between J'son the man and J'son the emperor. This was mostly because his status as a son, a lover, and a father had been unfairly stolen from him, thus making the command of his empire his sole purpose.

But now...now new information had reached him - information that he had never expected to hear. All he needed now was confirmation of his suspicions. And to get that, he had to wait for a special guest.

J'son's counselor, Bla'in, stood beside him, discussing matters quietly.

"Your highness...you must realize that the chances are very slim. The universe is a _huge_ place. You cannot be the first person to visit Terra and have...relations there. Perhaps it is a coincidence-" Bla'in rambled on pessimistically.

A coincidence? Indeed, the universe was a big place, but it was not big enough for J'son's suspicions to be proven untrue. The pieces fit together too cleanly…

Suddenly, the doors to the hall burst open, and a group of armor-clad Imperial guards dragged someone into the room. The prisoner's skin was a vibrant blue, and a reddish, close-cropped mohawk lined the top of his otherwise bald head. Unlike J'son's clothes, which betrayed his position of royalty, this man's outfit betrayed his profession as a space pirate - a Ravager.

The guards brought their captive to face J'son, hauling the man to his feet.

"Hello, Yondu," J'son greeted him contemptuously.

Yondu looked up at the emperor with narrowed, red eyes - just like he had done when J'son had first contacted him, all those years ago. "That voice...I never forget a voice…"

Trying to place it in his memories, the Ravager began clicking his tongue - a nervous tic, perhaps. However, it was not long before recognition crossed Yondu's features, but that recognition quickly melted into apprehension. "Aw, #$&%...you're the one that-"

"Yes, Yondu. You remember don't you?"

Time seemed to snap backwards as J'son remembered the events that had occurred twenty-six years ago. He recalled commissioning Yondu to bring his family from Earth to one of the Empire's outer planets, from which he could safely bring them to the throneworld.

But then Yondu had contacted him a few days later, claiming that he had traveled to Earth, only to find that human actions had taken the lives of his young son and his beautiful Meredith.

"Sorry for your loss an' all, but I came all the ways out here for nuthin!" Yondu had yelled at him over the com-link. "I still did my job, and I 'spect to be paid in full for it."

Unbelievable! The Ravagers had the _nerve_ to ask for full pay, even when they had so cruelly lied to him - had stolen what was his, and ruined his happiness for years to come.

Indeed, the loss had hit J'son extremely hard. Without his son...without his love...without his father...it had seemed like his world was crumbling.

And that loss of control of his personal life had changed him - had given him an almost compulsive need to exercise strict command over his Empire. In J'son's eyes, everyone and everything that refused his authority should be forced to submit. And if that failed, the problematic object would be eliminated - simple as that. This philosophy not only made Spartax a superficial Utopia, but it also ensured that J'son would never again be so negligent - about _anything_.

Presently, Yondu had finally realized the severity of his situation, and he proceeded to make excuses for himself. "Look, if I knew it were you, I'd have never done what I did-"

"Shut up!" J'son snapped, the very sight of this despicable man increasing his anger to dangerous amounts. "Not knowing my...position did not make your actions any less contemptible. The only reason I haven't thrown you in prison to rot for the rest of your _disgusting_ life is because of one reason - confirmation."

Bla'in used a remote to project a hologram into the center of the room. In it, there were several images. One was a photo of a motley crew of people - labeled the "Guardians of the Galaxy". A particular person was focused on - someone in a metal mask with red lenses.

The next was a picture of a man with golden bronze hair, his face wearing a goofy expression as he stared into the camera. It seemed to be a photo from a criminal record.

The rest of the images were security footage of that same person. Interestingly, the videos displayed actions that varied from petty thievery to selfless heroism, though the latter only seemed to occur in the presence of his fellow "Guardians."

"I assume that you recognize him," J'son growled at Yondu, who was staring at the hologram with a trace of a smile.

"Uh...yeah…"

"Well...I don't! So tell me, Yondu - should I recognize this man? And if I should, how is it that _you_ know him, when I do not? Tell me!" J'son was now shouting at Yondu, even though he knew that he should control his temper. Emperors were not supposed to have such intense outbursts - the maintenance of a level head was crucial in gaining his subjects' respect. But right now, his emotions were far too powerful to suppress. Twenty-six years of anger and bitterness were bubbling to the surface.

"You know what?" Yondu replied after a few moments of silence. "I ain't gonna explain myself to you. You were a pompous jackass all those years ago, and you're _still_ a pompous jackass."

"I don't care what you think of me. Is that my son...or not?"

Yondu smirked. "C'mon. A half-Terran, half-Spartoi boy named '_Peter Quill'_, and you're really wonderin' whether he's yours? I thought you ruler types were 'sposed to be smart."

Against his better judgement, J'son found himself lunging toward the Ravager, punching Yondu clean across the jaw. The action had been subconscious - driven by pure rage. Even the guards looked taken aback at this wild outburst of violence.

Still overwhelmed by fury, J'son grasped Yondu's jaw tightly, bringing the other man's head into an upright position.

"Why did you do it?" J'son almost whispered, his voice tight with outrage.

Yondu, the horrible bastard that he was, still proceeded to smile. "Free labor - figured the kid would make a good protégé. He showed spirit from an early age...jus' the right attitude to be a Ravager. O'course, I had to stop my people from eating him first. Eventually, though, he became _quite_ the thief. It'd be a lie to say I warn't proud."

J'son was tempted to strike out at Yondu again, but he could see the taunt behind the Ravager's words. Yondu _wanted_ to be killed, rather than live out the rest of his life in prison. If he pushed J'son far enough, Yondu figured that he could escape the punishment awaiting him.

No...that could not be allowed. The man's capture had cost J'son dozens of Imperial guards - all dead because that dangerous and powerful Yaka Arrow. He would not let them die in vain.

"You don't even deserve death, Yondu," J'son spat, stepping away from him. "I promise you this, though: you will have a very long, miserable life in prison. And then maybe - _maybe_ - you will _begin_ to understand the grief you have caused me."

With a wave of J'son's hand, the guards dragged Yondu out of the hall, the doors closing behind him with a haunting BOOM.

The emperor then collapsed into his chair, his recent emotional episode having drained his energy. Bla'in immediately began whispering in his ear, rapidly and with considerable panic.

"Sir, it could be a trick - a ruse aimed to place an imposter on the throne."

Rubbing his temples, J'son replied with barely controlled impatience. "I am aware of the risks, Bla'in. That's why this matter will have to be dealt with...delicacy."

"What are you suggesting, your highness?"

J'son stared at the hologram once more, trying to memorize the face that apparently belonged to his son. "Send the Imperial guards to fetch this...Star-lord. Find his last known location and follow the trail from there."

"Should we explain the situation to him?" Bla'in asked, listening to his emperor's orders intently.

"No...if people found out who he really was…that would ultimately put him in more danger. Especially given the crowds we have seen him associating with."

"He will not come willingly."

"Then _force_ him to come. But I want him unharmed, understand?" J'son ordered with finality, his gaze fierce as it turned to Bla'in.

"Of course, your highness. It will be done," the counselor replied devotedly before exiting the hall, ready to give the guards their new orders.

Now, the Emperor was alone with these new, confirmed revelations. His son was _alive_ - _Peter Quill was alive_. Perhaps the universe wasn't as cruel as J'son had initially believed.

_**To be continued...**_


	4. Target

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING, AND SHALL CONTINUE TO OWN NOTHING**

**A/N: Alright, so there is some pretty serious drunkenness in this uber-long chapter. I even contemplated changing the rating. But I figured I'd include a signature Guardians of the Galaxy bar brawl, so here it is.  
**

**I think this chapter may be funny, but I'm a horrible judge of comedy. You tell me. **

**Also, if some of the language or grammar in this chapter sounds stupid (especially after the second horizontal line), it's actually on purpose. I needed Peter to be pretty intoxicated, so his PoV reflects that.**

**Thanks for all the love thus far! Your reviews, favorites, and follows are very, very appreciated! I'm trying to post as often as I can, but I'm having some writer's block. I may not post for a little while...but I will post soon! Just probably not tomorrow (but who knows? Maybe I'll fix my writer's block by later tonight).**

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! **

* * *

_~Peter Quill's (aka Star-lord's) Point of View~_

Now, as a self-proclaimed, (former) legendary outlaw, I can honestly say I had been to some pretty _sick_ places in the universe - most of them bars.

Trust me...I had been everywhere from the chaotic tavern in Knowhere, to this rebellious little speakeasy near Tarnax IV - the Skrull homeworld. The latter was one of my personal favorites, actually.

With their totalitarian government in control of everything (including liquor regulations), Skrulls don't really get to have fun too often. But man...when those Skrulls let loose, they _really_ let loose.

That bar had been one of the craziest places I've ever seen. Inside, there had been just a big mess of drunken Skrulls, each shape-shifting so continuously that you would think you were _inside_ a rainbow lava lamp. I mean, if that was how those alien bastards acted while drunk, it was probably a good thing that their government kept the booze far out of reach - at least from a societal standpoint.

But from a party standpoint? Man, I wished _every_ bar was like that one.

As far as taverns go, I guess the one on Chandilar (the Shi'arian throneworld) wasn't too bad. The place wasn't very lively, though, but that was probably because of the collective Shi'arian personality.

When they weren't busy being literal "cold-blooded" jerks (which was most of the time), those guys were _total_ sticks in the mud. All they ever did was yap on about their culture's military conquests, or some big technological discovery that their bird-faced scientists had made. From that, you could probably tell that Shi'arians were really arrogant - they believed that they were superior to almost all other races, and that every other planet in the universe should be annexed into their empire.

But that was just the propaganda that their crazy, militaristic society fed them, so I really tried to keep their attitudes from ruining my night.

Besides, Shi'arians are a lot less high-and-mighty after you save a bunch of their best scientists from a Badoon attack. In fact, you might even say that in that situation, they're downright gregarious.

After we had saved the Strontian outposts, the Shi'arian government had hailed the Guardians - myself included - heroes (big surprise, right?). I mean, why wouldn't they? We had gotten all of those hostages out unharmed.

Anyway, our names had been plastered all over the Shi'arian news, and we had been invited to Chandilar to receive medals or something. And it's not that I didn't enjoy a hot, imperial babe like Lilandria pinning honorable decorations on my jacket - I'm just not one for formalities. Being around political figures like the Shi'arian high council was - frankly - boring to me.

Eventually, I had been able to convince the rest of the Guardians (okay, mostly Gamora, who has this whole shtick about honorable behavior) to ditch the welcome wagon and check out the taverns in Chandilar's main cities.

And now, we sat back, relaxed, inside a pretty swell bar called _Bel'ina's_. The place was a bit upscale for my tastes, seeing as I was accustomed to places that served questionable women and space pirates. But it was nice all the same, even if it lacked the rowdiness I often enjoyed.

The best part, though? Two words: Free. drinks. The bartender didn't charge us a single unit, and man, Rocket and Drax were downing _oceans_ of that stuff.

I guessed this was yet another benefit of being heroes. Everyone loved us, and apparently when everyone loves you, you get free stuff.

Go figure. No wonder why heroes never steal.

Of course, the Badoon probably weren't feeling all that warm and fuzzy toward us. They probably had our faces on wanted posters, or more accurately, in their empire's criminal records. I even heard they had us listed as public enemies number one, two, three, four, and six. (My guess was that Rocket got skimped out on a top spot. Everyone always underestimated that little guy.)

But I tried not to worry about the Badoon being thirsty for our blood. Right now, I was trying to celebrate good times. God knows they tended not to last.

"Man, I could get used to this," I told my friends as we sat around a round table, downing glass after glass of free drinks. Rocket and Drax raised their glasses in agreement, laughing heartily. And as expected, Groot replied "I am Groot," with considerable cheerfulness.

Gamora, of course, was not participating nearly as enthusiastically. She was still on her first glass, and her expression communicated that she was both amused and disgusted by how much we were gulping down.

* * *

As the night drew on, my mind became a _teeny-weeny_ bit fuzzy. I'm not really sure when my brain went beddy-bye - I really can't remember. But I was happy and relaxed and entertained...mostly because Rocket was telling some really funny stories. I didn't know what they were about, but they _sounded_ funny, so I kinda laughed whenever Rocket laughed.

At some point, though, Rocket stopped yabbering and even let Drax pet his fluffy head.

"Your fur is so soft," Drax told him absentmindedly. Even Groot joined in, running one of his wooden hands along the back of Rocket's head. It was funny to look at.

Normally, Rocket would've blasted people for doing that kind of stuff, but it looked like he was even enjoying it a bit. The only other time he had tolerated that sort of mushy crap was after he thought he had lost Groot, right after our fight with that guy- that blue meanie. What was his name, again? Ronny? Nathan? Hmm...I'd remember later on.

With no more fun stories to listen to, I turned to Gamora and poked her on the shoulder. She was stifling her laughter at Drax, Groot, and Rocket's little petting fest over there, a hand over her mouth. When I poked her, she turned to me with a smile on her face. She was so much prettier when she smiled. Of course, she was always pretty, but I couldn't tell _her_ that.

"H-h-heyyy, you…" I said, propping my head up on my left hand. Why was my head spinning so much, anyway? "You havin' funnn? 'Cause I'm havin' fun..."

"You are all so very, very drunk," Gamora pointed out with an exasperated smile, using her finger to push my glass out of reach.

Pshhh, drunk? We were fineeee. I mean, we were all finally getting along, and she had to go ruin the moment by saying that we were drunk! Un-be-lieeeev-able!

I waved her off dramatically, claiming, "We're fineee. I'm fineeee..hmm...you're very, very fineeee." Yeah, she _was_ really, really pretty. But she'd probably kill me if I tried to kiss her again, so I didn't make any moves or anything. Even in my stupor, I could remember that she always kept a knife on her somewhere, and it probably had my name written on it.

Thinking that another drink would help my increasingly spinning head, I pulled the glass back toward me. I saw Gamora rolling her eyes at me out of the corner of my eye, and she was soon snatching the glass out of my hand.

"Hey!" I cried, making a mad grab for the...cup thingy - one that didn't work. She was just too fast. Stupid assassin reflexes. "That's mine! Go get your own!"

"Peter, I don't know how much of this stuff you can even take. As a Terran, you should probably-" Gamora began, but I cut her off, my anger quickly growing. So what if I was a Terran? Why did that mean I couldn't have my drink?

"Here we go again," I wailed. "'_Better sit way back, you're just a lil' Terran - Terrans are sooo weak. The galaxy is no place for a Terran!'_"

My fist slammed against the table, startling the rest of my friends out of their little petting party. They looked at me like I had just done something really offensive, like shot a gun in their direction. To be honest, though, I was not even sure why I was hitting the furniture. If anything, it was only hurting my hand. But I guessed it just felt right at the time.

As Drax, Groot, and Rocket returned to what they had been doing, I pointed a finger at my own chest. Then I told her quite firmly, "I'm not jus' a Terran. I'm a _half-Terran_. That means I'm half human badass, and half alien badass. So anythin' you guys can handle, I can handle too. Got it?"

She was smirking at me a bit - probably because she found my behavior really funny. But it wasn't funny. Everyone was so quick to judge that I was some douchebag with no concept of strength or power, even though I had held that gem thingy longer than any mortal in the known universe. People were such jerks.

"I don't care what you are; I'm _still_ not carrying you back to the _Milano_," Gamora told me, shaking her head disapprovingly.

Right as I was about to say something really, really smart, someone grabbed my shoulder and turned me around forcefully. It was kinda rude, actually. Like...excuse me. That's _my_ shoulder - you can't touch it unless I _say_ you can touch it. Who did this person think they were?

Anyway, once I was fully turned around, I realized that the rude 'person' was actually a group of eight rude 'people' - burly, heavily armored ones at that. And it wasn't like the sort armor that Ronan's (that was his name! I remember now!) forces had. These were golden, interlocked sheets of metal, each one so shiny that they reflected light like mirrors. They had helmets on too, the fronts of which were these red visor-type things. And to top off the ridiculousness - they had red capes on too. That's right - capes. What dorks.

There were other things that were probably important - like the fact that a few of them were carrying guns. But they weren't pointed at anyone...yet.

They also had these metal spear things too, but the guns were a bigger problem to me.

"Are you the one they call Peter Quill?" the big dude in front said, his voice sounding pretty serious.

I scoffed, though I didn't know why I did so. Capes just make me crack up, I guess.

"Welllll...most of the galaxy calls me _Star-lord _- ex-legendary...criminal person...turned hero. But I'm not rea-llyy doing autographss righ' now, guyss. Come back when I'm not...I'm not...hmm…"

"Drunk," Gamora finished for me, rolling her eyes yet again.

"I'm not drunk!"

"Yes you are."

"Am not! I'm just...relaxanated."

"That is not even a word, Peter."

But the armored guys didn't seem to get that our little argument thingy was a private matter, and they showed no inclination to leave.

Correction: they seemed inclined to leave...just not without me.

Suddenly, the guy who had just spoken grabbed my jacket and pulled me straight out of my chair.

"Come with us," he ordered sternly, dragging me along against my will. But before he managed to haul me someplace I was pretty sure I didn't want to go, I managed to yank his grubby fingers off my clothes, effectively freeing myself. Unfortunately, I wasn't exactly at my most coordinated, and my efforts caused me to tumble backwards - right onto my ass.

"Dude...whaa the helll?" I slurred from the ground, glaring up at them with squinted eyes. My head was still spinning a lot, and I really, really wasn't in the mood to deal with these jackasses right now.

Before they could give a proper response or make a grab for me again, Gamora kicked the man who had attacked me, the blow meeting him square in the chest. He went flying backwards, taking his comrades with him like a stack of falling dominoes. Then, she turned back to me with an exasperated expression.

"Peter, what did you do?" she demanded.

"Whaa? _Me_?"

"Yes, you! Did you see that armor? Those are Spartoi Imperial Guards! If you stole something, I swear…"

Hmm...had I stolen anything from Spartoi in the past? There was that cool blaster on one of Spartax's dwarf planet territories that I had really wanted, but I couldn't remember whether I had actually taken it. Unable to figure it out, I just shrugged at her to express how unsure I was. That only seemed to make her angrier, though, which I didn't understand. Wouldn't it be worse if I was _sure_ that I had stolen something?

Seeming rushed, she then spun toward our fellow Guardians and yelled, "Guys! We need to leave!"

Her yelling wasn't doing any good, though. Rocket, Drax, and Groot had all passed out, their faces pressed against the tabletop.

Mmm...that seemed like a good idea. Taking a nap, I mean. I was really tired, and my spinning head just made me want to close my eyes.

"Damn it," she mumbled, glancing nervously at the domino guards, who were quickly getting to their feet. "Peter, wake them up!"

"Who? The guards? They're seemin' okay to me."

"No! Rocket, Drax, and Groot!"

"Ugh...do I have to get up?"

"Now, Peter!" she ordered, drawing her dagger and moving into a defensive stance as the so-called "Imperial Guards" charged us again.

"Fineee...no need to be so pushy…" I told her, stumbling unsteadily to my feet.

As she fended off their attack, I walked over to Rocket, Drax, and Groot and began shoving them. But those jerks just wouldn't wake up - and I knew Gamora wouldn't let me take a nap of my own until they were awake. And, you know, those guards probably wouldn't either.

Coming up with a new plan of action, I took a few steps back and took out my Quad blaster. Walking made me pretty dizzy, and my hazy eyes could barely make out Gamora fighting those Imperial Guards. That being said, I probably shouldn't have been using a blaster or anything, especially when my mind was on other things...like sleep. Or when my eyes weren't really able to focus.

But I figured it was my only option, so what the hell?

Somehow, I managed to avoid hitting Drax, Rocket, and Groot with my shot. The sound of the blast was loud enough to wake them, though, and they were so surprised that they jumped like 3 feet in the air. It was hilarious.

"Wuz goin' on?" Rocket moaned, rubbing his eyes before spotting the battle occurring only a few feet from our table. "Izzat a bar fight?"

"I greatly enjoy bar fights," Drax commented, stumbling to his feet, not even missing a beat. A few seconds later, he had walked straight up to those guards and started beating the crap out of them. I thought that punching metal armor like that would be painful, but Drax was laughing kinda hysterically, so I guessed it hadn't hurt that bad.

Soon enough, we were all fighting again - probably tearing up the bar in the process, too. Rocket and I were trying to blast those bastards, but our shots weren't aimed too well for some reason, which was pretty frustrating. I guessed his eyesight was as bad as mine right now.

"Don't kill them!" Gamora yelled. "We don't know what these people want, and the last things we need are new criminal records."

Meanwhile, Groot was lazily swatting at the Guards, and Drax's brief gusto was already starting to wane in favor of exhaustion. The only Guardian who was making any progress was Gamora, who had already incapacitated four of the guards, all of which lay unconscious on the ground.

As the screaming civilians filed out of the bar, another guard went down for the count. With only three of them left, it seemed like victory was in our sights, even if Gamora's sole efforts had caused that victory.

Sadly, things didn't stay that way for long. About 20 more of those guard-people poured into the bar - reinforcements, I supposed.

And jeez, was I _tired_. I just wanted to take a nap, not fight any more guards.

They surrounded us, aiming guns at me and my friends. I wondered what we had done - I mean, if I had stolen something big enough to warrant this sort of force, I would remember. So why were they attacking? And more importantly, why were they targeting me in particular?

Seeing how outnumbered we were, all my friends dropped their weapons and put their hands in the air - all except Gamora, who wasn't a big fan of surrender.

"Why are you doing this?" she wondered as well, but unlike my question, hers was out loud. I could easily admit that she looked really intimidating like that, breathing heavily and pushing stray hairs out of her face, even as she balanced _on top_ of one of the fallen guards.

Hmm...she was also really pretty. Had I mentioned that?

Surprisingly, that ended up being one of my last conscious thoughts. Almost immediately after Gamora had asked that, the Guards fired their guns at us.

I expected to feel pain, or maybe see my mom because...you know...I was probably _dead_. However, I felt a strange tingly sensation instead, and my limbs went completely limp.

It was a feeling I had experienced before, and I soon realized that those guns weren't packing anything fatal. Not even close. For some reason, those guards were using Neuro-Blasters, which were the alien-equivalents of tranquilizer guns.

I felt myself slide to the ground, completely paralyzed. Whoever had sent these guys here...they wanted me alive - for now, at least.

The effects of the Neuro-Blast soon reached my brain, and everything started going fuzzy - or maybe it would have been more accurate to say 'even fuzzier.' As I had probably mentioned, my head had been spinning for a while now, and if exhaustion was a highly valuable commodity, I would have been rich as hell. Still...I couldn't exactly say this approaching unconsciousness was welcome - especially since I was going to be captured and held accountable for a crime that I couldn't even _remember..._if I had committed it at all. Besides, if I had done anything, I doubted it would have been big enough to catch the attention of big players like the Spartoi Imperial Guards.

Ugh. Those guys were _such_ jerks. And this was totally _not_ the sort of nap I had in mind.

Sure enough, my brain started closing up for the night, and everything went black.

_**To be continued...**_


	5. Imprisonment

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N: Alright, a bit of a filler chapter here. ****It took me a while to get through this one. I don't know why, but it did. My writer's block has been pretty killer lately. **

**By the way, I'd loveee some more reviews. Tell me how my writing is please! It's important to me, especially because I want to be a writer (of sorts) for my career. **

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the chapter! **

* * *

Gamora had never been a big fan of jails. The Kyln - her former place of confinement - had brought only danger for her, especially given the blood-thirsty inmates that had surrounded her. However, that remained only one of her past issues with correctional facilities. Until quite recently, Gamora's entire _life_ had been a prison - a nightmare in which she was forced to adopt new lifestyles and ethical codes against her own volition. Her situation, which had placed her firmly under Thanos's thumb, had changed her physically, mentally, emotionally, and morally. She was now a dark, more dangerous shadow of her former self.

Of course, all prisons set out to change their inmates in some way - and not necessarily for the better. Thanos's influence had been no different, save for the fact that it was much more successful than any penal system could hope to be.

But she hated what he had turned her into, and she prided herself on the good deeds she had recently committed. A part of her felt like she had been redeeming herself - like she was finally free of _all_ her prisons.

Unfortunately, when she had woke up in an (albeit surprisingly clean) Shi'arian jail cell, that feeling had disappeared in favor of a sense of confinement and annoyance. It had taken a near-death experience to erase her suffocating criminal record, and now...it had been resurrected so quickly. It was ridiculous!

A few moments ago, Gamora had struggled to regain consciousness after that Neuro-Blaster attack. They guards had used several shots to take her out completely, whereas it had taken only one to incapacitate the brain-addled Rocket, Drax, Groot, and Peter. They had already been on the brink of sleep, anyway.

The only good thing that seemed to come out of the attack was the Neuro-Blasts' effects on her comrades. The weapons had given them hours to sleep off what would have been a pretty horrible hangover. Instead, they only woke with a serious case of dehydration.

Though they had bigger problems than dehydration, of course. Their biggest one was probably Peter's absence from the group. Apparently, for a reason unknown to them, he had been taken captive by the Spartoi Imperial Guards.

With that in mind, Gamora couldn't help but wonder why the Guardians (including herself) had been imprisoned, especially when they were the victims of an assault and one of their own had been kidnapped.

She waited impatiently for a Shi'arian guard to pass by their cell, pacing and occasionally poking at the yellow energy field that kept them effectively trapped in a cylindrical cage. Every time she touched it, a jolt of electricity coursed through her veins, and she was forced to pull her hand back. She kept testing it nonetheless, determined to make sure that it had not weakened.

"Get away from that thing," Rocket told her, briefly breaking out of a silent reverie. He was probably planning a way out of the cell. "The more you touch it, the more they'll increase the voltage."

Of course he would know. With twenty-two prison escapes under his belt, Rocket basically knew about every sort of confinement method in the galaxy.

"I do not understand why we have been arrested - no spines have been ripped out! And why did they take Quill, and leave the rest of us here?," Drax mused, looking to Gamora for the answer.

This behavior was expected. Whenever Peter was indisposed, she became their baby-sitter. Correction: she was _always_ their baby-sitter, of sorts. But Peter had been given the orders for a little while now, and she supposed she had gotten used to it.

"I don't know…" she murmured in response, her breath coming out in a huff as she dropped to sit cross-legged on the floor. Those were questions she had pondered herself, but failed to find an answer to.

"What do you think Quill did? I mean, those guys don't come to foreign planets for no one…" Rocket added, scratching his furry chin.

He was right, Gamora noted. The Spartoi wouldn't send _Imperial Guards_ to make an arrest for petty crime, and she doubted that the not-so-legendary-criminal Star-lord had never done anything memorable enough to warrant capital punishment.

"I don't know," she repeated with increased irritation.

"I am Groot."

Suddenly, Gamora was standing and yelling aggressively. "I don't know!"

She had assumed that Groot's addition to the conversation had been another question that Gamora couldn't answer, even though it wasn't. Immediately after seeing Groot's hurt expression, her heart clenched in regret and she lowered her voice.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "But I don't have the answers you're all looking for. I wish I did...but I don't."

In truth, she hated being in the dark when it came to information. The last time important knowledge had been kept from her, she had accidentally placed an Infinity Gem into a psychopath like Ronan the Accuser's hands. She could only wonder what major piece of information she was missing this time.

And though she would never admit it to him, Gamora knew that Peter was the glue that held the Guardians of the Galaxy together. He had even been the catalyst that had brought them together in the first - not to mention that he had personally saved her life, even at the risk of his own. She couldn't help feeling guilty about his capture - she was sure she could have prevented it.

But because she had failed, he could have already been sent to a maximum-security Spartoi prison, or executed - as Spartoi capital offenses often required…

No! She _could not _think that way.

Peter would find his way out - he had survived this long on his own, and during that time, he had probably faced worse than Spartoi Imperial Guards.

In fact, he had already fought Ronan _and_ held an Infinity Gem. No doubt about it...Peter had _definitely_ faced worse.

But she still worried - even if she would never tell Peter that.

Finally, she spotted a guard coming toward the cell, and Gamora lunged toward the edge of the energy field. "Hey!" she called at the top of her lungs. "Come here!"

The guard was a burly Shi'arian with birdlike features and a plume of black hair protruding from his head in a triangular fashion. He looked a bit bored too - probably because he _watched people_ for a living.

"Why are we here?" Gamora demanded contemptuously, staring him down with her best glare.

Surprisingly, he began laughing at her. "Are you joking? You guys tore that bar to shreds! The owner is pressing charges."

"What?" Rocket exclaimed with outrage, jumping in front of Gamora to join the stand-off. "We were attacked! What'd you expect us to do? Just _let them_ kidnap our friend?"

"You could have notified the local authorities of the situation-"

"Considering that they had guns pointed toward us, that wasn't exactly an option, dumbass!" Rocket snapped. "We were _defending_ ourselves...but I guess your beady eyes prevent you from seeing that obvious fact."

"Why you little piece of-" the guard began, raising what must have been an electric spear.

Gamora could see that the situation was rapidly deteriorating. If they were going to get out of this place, they were going to need a better approach than blatant hostility, which Rocket seemed very inclined toward.

She interrupted the insult, but instead of regarding the guard with resentment, she batted her eyes and made her voice as sweet as possible. "Look...you probably don't recognize us. We're the _Guardians of the Galaxy_. We saved Xandar from destruction at the hands of Ronan the Accuser. We helped your people with the Badoon attack on Strontia's moon - we even have medals from your Majestrix Lilandra. Trust me...we _are not_ criminals!"

"Not anymore, anyway. It has been months since I have murdered anyone in cold blood," Drax continued for her unhelpfully, which caused her to direct a silencing glare in his direction.

Gamora then turned back to the guard. "Please. There must be something you can do."

The guard hesitated a bit before speaking again. "Look, you still broke our laws. And thus you will be tried accordingly. I mean, unless the bar owner miraculously drops the charges, you're plain out of luck."

"So you just expect us to sit here while our friend's been kidnapped? Can't you _at least _send out a search party for him?"

"He's not one of our people, and therefore not our responsibility. Besides, the Spartoi Imperial Guard took him, and we have no plans to interfere with their official business - especially not for some _Terran_."

At that, Gamora's anger exploded out of her, and she charged the guard with a screech. Her fist slammed against the energy field with unprecedented strength, and the electricity shot up her arm painfully. However, she barely noticed the sting...not while she was so enraged. So she proceeded to place blow after blow against that field, wishing that she could attack the guard instead.

Eventually, the voltage increased to unbearable amounts - amounts powerful enough to throw her backwards. Her body slammed against Groot, who managed to catch her in his branch-like arms.

As he helped Gamora steady herself, the smell of something burning hit her nose, and she suspected that the odor was emanating from her hair, skin, and clothes. Smoke was rolling off her as well, but despite the dull ache that extended throughout her body, the energy field had left her essentially unharmed.

"Thanks, Groot," she murmured, to which he replied his signature phrase.

As she watched the guard walk away, chuckling as he did so, Gamora seethed internally.

All this talk about breaking laws, yet these stupid Shi'arians refused to rescue someone who had been kidnapped. It was despicable.

A few moments later, Rocket came up to her and began whispering quietly. "Don't worry. I've got a plan to get out of this $ #%hole. Just give me some time."

Gamora shook her head before responding. "We don't have a lot of time, Rocket. Who knows what's happening to Peter right now? He's probably in a prison...or preparing to be executed."

"I said _some_ time, not 'a lot'. Trust me...we'll rescue your boyfriend in no time," Rocket assured her, his voice laden with sarcasm. She still denied the taunt anyway.

"He's not my boyfriend."

"If you say so."

"He's not!"

"Whatever…"

_**To be continued...**_


	6. Extravagance

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N: So...no reunion quite yet. But this chapter was getting a little long, and if I included Peter's reunion with J'son, it would have been ridiculously long, and I wouldn't have been able to post it for a while.**

**So here's a somewhat action-less chapter. Sorry?**

**Once again, writer's block continues to plague me, along with a busy schedule. I will post again soon, but probably not tomorrow. **

**We'll be getting to more interesting stuff soon! I promise.**

**Enjoy! :)**

* * *

_~Peter Quill's (aka Star-lord's) Point of View~_

_A swirling mass of colorful mists encircled me, leaving me trapped and disoriented. It was like the universe was some big painter that couldn't decide what my surroundings should be, so it just decided to pour all the paints onto the canvas and let them drip down. What had happened to me? Where was I?_

_All of a sudden, the mists stopped gyrating, and the colors finally fell into place. Yes - I now recognized where I was. How could I have been so confused?_

_I was in my room. And not my room on the Milano, or at the Guardians' headquarters in Knowhere, but in my actual room - the room I used to have in Missouri._

_I couldn't say I hadn't missed it, because in all honesty, it was the only place that had ever truly felt like home. To me, everything about it screamed familiarity, and I was so glad to be back that I didn't question how I had gotten there._

_I circled the room, examining everything in sight with nostalgia burning at the pit of my stomach. The ceiling was still painted with the constellations, and posters of NASA astronauts lined the walls. Even my old comic books were still piled on my dresser, about to collapse to the side and pour all over the carpeted floor. There were pictures of my mom and me, too. Pictures I wished that I had taken with me before Yondu had captured me._

_How could I have left this behind so easily? My entire life had been on Earth...and I had just abandoned it without a thought of coming back._

_Suddenly, someone entered the room._

_Mom._

_She was different, though. No...that was wrong. She looked like she had before...before she had gotten cancer. A mop of silky, brown hair still hung around her shoulders, and I couldn't help but notice how radiant she looked, smiling at me the way she was._

"_You ready for me to tuck you in, baby?" she asked, a twang obvious in her voice as she placed her hands on her hips._

"_Yes, momma," I heard myself reply, my voice oddly high in pitch. It was then that I realized how short I was. Had I somehow reverted back in age?_

_She wrapped her arms around me and lifted me into the air, surprising me with her long-forgotten strength. In her arms, I briefly enjoyed the artificial feeling of flying. She soon released me, though, laying me on the bedspread and placing the covers over my body._

_God, it had been such a long time since I had been in an actual bed. Sure, there was a bunk of sorts on the Milano, and a bunch of hammocks in the Knowhere outpost, but nothing quite like a real bed. I missed the feeling._

_My mom kneeled next to the bed and ran her fingers through my hair. I had really missed her too._

"_You're so very special, Peter," she told me with another glowing smile. "If only your daddy could see you."_

"_Where's my daddy, momma?" I heard myself ask, my voice still strangely high._

"_He's flying among the stars, sweetie. That's where he belongs, and where you'll belong someday." She then stood up to place a kiss on my forehead, briefly grasping my hand in hers. "One day, you'll be a Star-lord too. Jus' like him." With each of the last three words, she poked my nose lightly, and I giggled._

_A few moments later, she was walking over to the light switch and turning it off, bathing us in darkness. Despite the inscrutable blackness, I was still able to see her looking at me from the threshold, her figure silhouetted in the yellow light of the hallway._

"_I'll always love you, Peter," I heard her whisper, and she began closing the door._

_The light was slowly being blotted out, taking my mom with it. I couldn't let her leave! I needed her!_

"_Mom, come back!" I yelled, but I couldn't move out of the bed. My body wouldn't respond - I was trapped in the darkness. "Please, please, please come back!"_

_The door closed with finality, and the darkness filled my heart with inexplicable terror. I knew she was gone...gone forever...and I had still failed to save her._

* * *

I woke with a start, my eyes shooting straight open and my breathing heavy. My heart was beating really fast too - which was so stupid. I mean, come on. How was darkness scary? Only five-year-olds were afraid of that! Seriously - I've explored the freaking universe, for God's sake. I've faced monstrous and psychopathic alien beings and made it out alive. And yet...a dream about losing my mom and being trapped in the dark had scared me out of my wits.

People say that you can overcome your fears by facing them. They're wrong.

When I was a kid, I had been afraid of losing my mom, and I _had_ lost her. The phobia was still there, though...bubbling under the surface. Sure, it had lost its real-life relevance, but it was still scary all the same. That's why I still had nightmares about it.

Because that's what that whole vision had really been - a nightmare. Or a memory that had been distorted by the effects of the Neuro-Blaster and the liquor (I suspected that those two were not a healthy combination). Either way, the events in that vision hadn't been a real issue, but I was still faced with very, very real problems.

Problems such as my very concerning lack of knowledge, especially regarding my current location.

I vaguely remembered what had happened in the bar on Chandilar...that men in Spartoi armor - Imperial Guards - had tried to capture me. It took me a while to figure out whether they had actually succeeded in their efforts, but I soon recalled the relevance of the word "Neuro-blaster," and immediately realized that I had, unfortunately, been captured.

Man, I had been sooo wasted that night. It was surprising that I had lasted that long. But ultimately, the Spartoi Imperial Guards had knocked me out, and they had probably taken me somewhere - a prison perhaps? I wondered which one.

It was then that I realized that I was, in fact, tucked into a bed. And not just any bed - like a really fluffy, fancy bed with red, gold, and black designs all over the comforter. The sheets were really silky too, so you could tell that they were rich people's sheets. I briefly wondered how many units my captors had laying around…

No! Bad Peter. Very bad Peter! Stealing had probably gotten me into this mess in the first place, and the last thing I needed was an additional crime to be held responsible for…

My first sight, other than the bed, was the ceiling, which was made of gold tiles, each one decorated with similar strange red and black designs.

I mean...what kind of prison had _ornate ceiling tiles_? Like...what the actual $#%*?

At that startling revelation, I sat straight up, hoping to examine my surroundings.

My mouth gaped at what I saw, and my mind was capable of processing only one coherent thought: that this was - without a doubt - _not_ a prison.

The room was big enough to easily hold two Ravager cruisers, and those weren't exactly _tiny_ vessels. But the sheer size wasn't what impressed me the most - alright, the size was still impressive, just not enough to immediately catch my attention. Not with all the other fancy stuff in the room, anyway.

The walls were also a rich gold color - so much so that I began to wonder if they were actually made of gold. In fact, that was pretty much the entire room's color scheme - a lot of gold, and then some flecks of red and black thrown in, such as with the round bed, which sat on a raised platform in the center of the room. About a thousand pillows propped me up, despite the fact that the wall directly behind the bed was pretty much a soft, golden cushion.

Strange lanterns hung from the ceilings, or protruded out of the several columns that sat at different points in the room. They gave off a golden sort of light as well, which was probably the designer's intention.

Of course, there were also other pieces of furniture on that shiny, gold floor - a few heavily cushioned chairs, an ornate dining set, and some fancy nightstands, for instance.

However, the main of object of my attention remained the gigantic, single-pane glass window on the right side of the room, which stretched across the entire wall. It allowed me to see a beautiful city skyline with domed buildings and colossal skyscrapers. Even a complete asshole - like me, for example - could admit that the landscape was beautiful.

There was a design in the center of the window, carefully crafted out of colored glass. I would say it looked like a sun given its circular center, but the so-called "sun's" rays were much too straight, and came to an odd point - like arrows. A part of my mind whispered that I had seen the design before...that it was practically the Spartoi coat of arms. Unfortunately, I couldn't recall whether the memory came from my recent bar brawl with the Imperial Guards...or from somewhere else.

Tired of sitting in bed, I swung my legs over the side of the mattress and struggled to my feet. I didn't know how long I had been unconsciousness, but given the stiffness in my legs, I could only assume that it had been for a pretty lengthy amount of time.

I noticed that my clothes had been changed as well, which made me embarrassed to think that some poor soul had wrestled me out of my sweaty, Ravager garb. Of course, these people had also _kidnapped_ me, so dealing with my smelly clothes wasn't exactly equal retribution. Besides, I'm sure my clothes-changer had dealt with far worse bodies, if you catch my drift...

Still, I was quite mad to discover that both my Sony Walkman and Quad blaster - which used to be tucked into the inner pockets of my Ravager jacket - had been so unfairly stolen from me. It was one thing to put me in these ugly red pajama things (because apparently, even _I _had to match the room too), but it was another thing to steal my prized possessions. Those were mine - and mine alone.

Okay...someone was definitely getting a punch in the face. No doubt about it.

However, I continued to be really, really confused as to why I had been given such luxurious accommodations. I had lived among grimy space-pirates for most of my life, and before that, in a Missouri farm-town. Extravagance wasn't exactly something I was accustomed to, you know?

And this...this room was the _epitome_ of extravagance. I mean, I've heard about Spartoi prisons before, and none of the accounts had described fancy places like this. So what was the deal?

Whatever the case, staying here wasn't an option. Who knew what they were planning to do to me?

I made my way to the door, which was located on the wall opposite to the window. The exit was firmly sealed shut, and the nearby control panel yielded no such luck in opening it. Unfortunately, someone had programmed the door to keep me inside.

So yeah...maybe I wasn't inside a prison, per se, but I was still a prisoner all the same.

And being any kind of prisoner sucked, no matter where you were.

I spun around the room, formulating a plan for escape. But what did I have to work with?

Some decorative furniture - no, that wouldn't be enough to fight off Imperial Guards. And besides, there'd be too many of those guys. Electrical wires? No...an energy short-out would probably alert them that something was wrong.

But while looking at those lanterns, I realized that I wouldn't need to short out any wires to serve my purpose. With them in mind, I was finally able to hatch a plan.

Alright, not a whole plan. There was still too much that I didn't know. I'd say it was maybe like...14% of a plan, which was actually better than some of my ideas in the past. Rocket probably could have come up with a better one, given that he was the master escape artist, but he wasn't here right now. So I'd have to do this on my own.

Yeah, I know. I didn't have a lot of faith in my escape-artist abilities either.

_**To be continued...**_


	7. Careful Planning

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N: I hate to say it, but I feel like the updates are gonna get more and more sporadic. School's starting, and that's gonna eat up about 99% of my time. But I'll try to update as much as I can. **

**Here's a relatively long and eventful chapter to hold you guys over until my next update. I have no idea when that will be, but it will be soon. **

**Enjoy! **

* * *

26 years. It had been 26 years of wishing and bargaining with fate, of burying the past with distractions like work and anger. And now...now that all the wishing had paid off...now that he had found his son - a son that was healthy and currently sitting in the next room - J'son somehow could not find the courage to speak with him.

It had been a long time since he had felt nervous. As an emperor, every one of J'son's decisions had to be firm - backed by confidence and careful planning. If he showed any nervousness in those decisions, it was not only a sign of weakness on his part, but it also meant that failure was _possible_. And if J'son had learned anything , it was that no one - ally, enemy, or subject - would respect a ruler that could not trust their own capabilities and fulfill their own responsibilities.

But this was J'son's _son_; a boy...no...a man that knew nothing of his father's existence. How could he possibly explain himself? How could he gain Peter's trust? They were practically strangers. No...they were _complete_ and _utter_ strangers.

J'son sat pensively on his throne, planning how he might introduce himself to the offspring that he had never met, yet was all that remained of his beloved Meredith. Not to mention that Peter didn't exactly seem like the most reasonable person, especially given the fact that the guards had found him while he was drunk out of his wits.

He also suspected that Peter would attack him for kidnapping him, if given the chance. In most cases, kidnapping was not the most ethical way to welcome your son; but for Peter and the Spartoi, it _was_ the most secure. The last thing J'son needed was Peter's "friends" tagging along. Who knew how much havoc a daughter of Thanos, a pyromaniac raccoon, a psychopathic murderer, and a humanoid tree could cause individually, let alone together? It would be dangerous to summon them to Spartax, especially when they had already proven to be such bad influences on his son.

Suddenly, Bla'in burst into the hall, the doors slamming open with a clatter.

J'son glared at him with irritation. "I asked for privacy, Counselor."

"I know, sir, but this matter is urgent!"

The emperor closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, preparing to hear about a problem that was probably less than urgent. In the past, Bla'in had thought palace water damage had been an issue of utmost importance, and had required the J'son's immediate attention. Before that, Bla'in had woken J'son up in the middle of the night to inform him that a councilmen had crashed his cruiser, despite the fact that no injuries had occurred as a consequence. It was truly no wonder that J'son suspected that this intrusion might be repeating history.

"Sir, your son's room is on fire!"

J'son eyes shot open, his expression immediately becoming stunned and horrified.

"_What_?" he demanded as he leapt off of his throne.

Bla'in stammered uncontrollably, shaking as he did so. "We-we're not sure how it happened, b-b-but the guards are attending to the flames right now-"

"Out of my way!" J'son ordered, shoving Bla'in to the side as he sprinted out of the hall.

As panic filled his thoughts, J'son wondered how in the world the room could have caught on fire.

And then he realized that he was dealing with a half-human, half-Spartoi with a Ravager's disposition. What else could he have expected?

* * *

_~ Peter Quill's (aka Star-lord's) PoV ~_

It's true. Peter Quill - Star-lord extraordinaire - is highly accomplished at setting beds on fire...both physically and _metaphorically _(if you know what I mean. I know Drax wouldn't). However, if I had to choose between having some late-night fun and using a well-placed house fire to escape a kidnapping scenario, I'd still definitely choose the former. But I'll admit it - watching a fancy bed go up in smoke was pretty fun too.

So here's what you missed: basically, I had pulled the comforter off of the bed and wrapped it around myself. That way, if my captors were monitoring me, they'd just think I was cold. Then, I casually leaned against one of the pillars with the lanterns, which were, as I expected, pretty damn hot. With time, the comforter began to catch on fire, but I pretended not to notice until the flames were all over the blanket.

Now, I'll tell you, standing around in a blazing comforter isn't the most relaxing sensation in the world, especially since doing so could actually kill me. But if I didn't escape, I figured that I'd be taking up residence in the afterlife pretty soon anyway, so what the hell? I had held an Infinity Gem. This was _nothing_.

Okay, I was still pretty terrified, Infinity Gem or not. You'd be scared too if you were inside a flaming burrito, alright? Because that's what I felt like with that comforter around me. A flaming burrito.

The rest of my "setting-the-room-on-fire" plan was easy. I had proceeded to screech exaggeratedly at my flaming comforter, and in my faux panic, I "accidentally" tossed the blanket onto the very flammable bed, which was also on fire in a matter of minutes. After that, I sorta pretended to freak out by dragging the bedding around the room in a fake attempt to stamp out the flames (but I was really trying to spread the fire even more).

So basically...phase one had been completed.

Now I sat in the center of the room, trying to keep away from the conflagration that surrounded me, even as I still held onto the flaming comforter. I yelled for help too, which hurt my pride a lot. I mean, I'm freaking _Star-lord_ - a Guardian of the Galaxy. I _don't_ need help. But hopefully an intervention on my captors' part would provide a means of escape, regardless of whether I needed aid.

Of course, there was always the off-chance that they weren't monitoring me, which wouldn't be good..._at all._ If they had no idea what was happening, glory would not be the only blaze I'd be going out in - the second blaze would be an actual inferno, by the way. But I doubted that they would kidnap me just to let me die in a house fire, right?

But after waiting for a few minutes, there had not been so much as footsteps outside the hall.

I still waited.

And waited.

But after even more time, there was not so much as a sign.

Oh my god. No one was coming. My captors were actually going to let me die. Those pieces of $# % had killed me!

Okay, technically I had lit the fire myself. But they had created the circumstances that _called_ for the fire, so my death was totally their faults.

Finally, someone opened the door, and Imperial Guards with high-tech fire extinguishers poured into the room.

Go time! Time to give my best (and admittedly not-so-fake) performance of a panicking shmuck.

"Oh my god!" I wailed to the Guard in front, forcefully shaking his shoulders. " I'm gonna burn to death! Get me outta here!"

"Get him outside!" the Guard ordered to three of his comrades, and those same comrades began pulling me out the door. I dragged the blanket behind me, but they didn't really notice.

Phase two complete.

Unfortunately, those three guys still kept a pretty firm grip on my shoulders to prevent me from escaping. Otherwise, I would have bolted as soon as I was out of the room. But just because these guys were dressed really stupidly didn't mean they were _completely_ stupid. They'd be total morons to not suspect an escape attempt on my part.

Luckily, my plan still accounted for a situation such as this.

As we stood in the hallway outside the room, watching the other guards extinguish the flames, I began doing subtle things to draw attention to the fiery blanket still clenched in my hands (Don't worry. The part I was holding was still temporarily flame-free). For example, I shook it a bit, stretched my arms (thus carrying the blanket with me) and so on and so forth.

Eventually, one of the Guards standing over me noticed it, and promptly exclaimed,"What are you doing? Get rid of that thing! It's on fire!"

Now, over the years, I've learned that flustered and panicked people are the easiest to trick. And you know what makes people the most flustered and panicked? Other people who are flustered and panicked. So guess how I acted...

I then proceeded to (insincerely) screech and stare at the blanket with absolute horror. In my fake panic, I shoved the burning cloth at them and screamed: "OMIGOD, WHAT DO I DO WITH IT?"

As expected, people - including Imperial Guards - do not react reasonably when you shove burning objects toward their faces. They went with their natural anti-fire instincts, even though those instincts were totally wrong. I mean, they were even wearing _armor_, so the fire wouldn't even hurt them. But I wasn't about to tell them that.

"Just-just throw it in there!" they all told me, flinching away from the blanket and gesturing to my former room.

Being the _totallysubmissive_ guy that I am, I did as they instructed and threw the blanket through the doorway - right into the already burning room. The only problem with that action was this: the other Imperial Guards were standing just inside the doorway, and the burning blanket landed directly over them.

They screamed and writhed under the comforter, my lucky throw having effectively used the cloth to obscure their vision. Those guys even dropped their high-tech fire extinguishers, which continued to spray as they hit the floor. It was one of the funniest things I've ever seen - but I couldn't risk any credibility by laughing. Instead, I continued to act panicked.

"Look what you made me do!" I screamed at the Guards watching over me. "Go help them before you make things any worse!"

Now, because guilt and panic are such helpful motivators, those idiots actually _listened_ to my instructions and ran toward their comrades, hoping to free them from the fancy-comforter-deathtrap.

As soon as they had turned away, I had started sprinting down the hall, and the smell of smoke was already fading from my nostrils. Thank God.

Phase three complete.

As I ran, I noted that my plan had worked so much better than anticipated. I mean, I was at least expecting some third-degree burns or something. But those Guards had been too easy to fool.

My only problem now was getting out of this stupid (albeit quite beautiful) building, which was pretty much a maze of endless, golden hallways. There were also some old guys in fancy robes stumbling about, which I had to push out my way.

I don't have anything against old guys, of course. I'll be one myself someday. But right now, they needed to learn to walk a little faster.

And then there was the pesky problem of getting to a ship, getting my Walkman back, and getting in contact with my friends. So basically...I had three more impossible phases to complete. Though, for now, I was only focusing on getting the hell out of that building.

But as I ran, I had to admit that I was safer now than I had been in that room. So that was an accomplishment, right?

Anyway, judging from the windows I had seen, I was on an upper floor, so I'd need to reach the bottom floor to leave. I thus remained on the lookout for some stairs, or an elevator, or a lift - anything to bring me downwards.

Before I found anything, though, I heard a both welcome and unwelcome sound behind me - the faint melody of Elvin Bishop's "Fooled Around and Fell in Love." It was one of the many songs on the mix tape my mom had made for me.

The sound was welcome because it meant my Walkman was very close by. However, it was also _unwelcome_ because its audibility meant that someone was using it - someone who was not me, and probably not an attractive female. Walkman usage was pretty exclusive to those categories.

Thus, I spun around and began running toward the source of the music, anger coursing through my veins. I resolved to find whoever was keeping my Walkman hostage and beat the crap out of them.

Unfortunately, when I turned a corner, I realized that I had fallen into a pretty obvious trap.

The hallway was filled with Imperial Guards, each one aiming a Neuro-Blaster at my chest. There was a man at the center of the group - a man with brown hair and a pretty thick, but short, beard. He was wearing a red military uniform of some sort, complete with epaulettes* and a big medallion that sported that same design from my room's window. You could tell that he was the guy in charge simply by the way he stood, which was in a really proud and regal manner.

Unfortunately, that same guy had my Walkman in his hands, the headphones held gingerly in between his fingers. He was scrutinizing me with a strange expression - I'd call it "incredulous," but I feel like "intrigued" might be a better word.

Given the fact that I was really badly outnumbered, I threw my hands in the air as a sign of surrender. But I still wasn't prepared to be taken again. I was gonna punch some faces this time - just when they were least expecting it.

"Oh come on, guys," I said. "Can't we work something out? Let's _all_ go home - take the day off. That way, we're all happy."

Sadly, none of them budged. I didn't know why that proposition never worked...It sounded plenty good to me.

I then turned to the bearded guy. "You mind turning the music down, fuzz-ball? You're gonna blow my headphones, and they don't exactly sell those things out here."

"I remember how much your mother loved this music," he replied almost absentmindedly as he pressed the pause button. "I figured if I played it, you'd come running - just like she used to. It appears I was right."

His words stopped my heart mid-beat, and my blood froze in my veins. My mother? What _the hell_ was he talking about? He couldn't have possibly know my mother. She was - had been - a Terran...

Was I dead, then? Was this the afterlife, and my mom was here, and that was how this guy knew her, or about her music tastes?

Hmm...I felt pretty alive. He was probably just messing with me - some bastard playing mind games. I didn't know what he was after, or how mentioning my mother would help him get it, but I was determined to prevent him from getting whatever 'it' was.

I chuckled, discreetly examining the room for some sort of means of escape as I did so. "Jeez. I thought 'Yo Mamma' jokes were exclusive to Earth."

"I assure you. I knew your mother," he told me with a slight smile. The smile wasn't exactly warm, though. It expressed a sort of limited amusement - like a teacher chastising a small child.

I wanted to punch that patronizing look right off of his face.

"Shut up, beardo," I snapped, enraged that he was still determined to play mind games with me. I wouldn't fall for it. "You're lying!"

He sighed, approaching me cautiously. Since I looked pretty mad, it was only logical to suspect that I was going to attack him - mostly because that suspicion was 100% right. Of course, I'd have to act fast to avoid the Neuro-Blaster shots and all those bulky guards, but I figured that all I needed was proper timing.

A few seconds later, he was standing directly in front of me, his eyes raking me over with that same patronizing look. His gaze was totally freaking me out, especially given the intensity in which he stared at me, and I couldn't bring myself to hit him.

In an attempt to seem intimidating, I returned the stare with an equally patronizing expression. As I did so, I noticed that we were the exact same height, with the exact same color eyes. How weird was that?

"There's really no other way to say this, so I'll just come out with it," the man said, breaking eye contact with me to look down at the Walkman. He then placed the cassette player into my hand. "Peter...my name is J'son. I'm your father."

_**To be continued...**_

* * *

*epaulette: an ornamental shoulder piece on an item of clothing, typically on the coat or jacket of a military uniform. (via wikipedia)


	8. Revelations

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N: Oh my god. 160 followers? I've written RIDICULOUSLY LONG stories with the same amount, and this only has 8 chapters! You guys are amazing! Thank you! :)**

**And now for the bad news - I am sooo busy, you guys don't even know. I have no idea how often I'll be able to update. But just bear with me, okay? I'm trying my best and I feel REALLY bad about not being able to post as often, especially now that so many of you guys are following, reviewing, and favoriting this story. To me, the end of the summer and the start of school is just a terrible time for writing, and I have MOUNTAINS of homework to complete. Ugh.**

**Not to mention that I am tortured by writer's block. I have spent more time staring at a blank word document than any normal human should, and that wastes the little time I have. God, I wish I could just bang out the chapters, but I'm having some serious difficulty.**

**Anyway, here's a nice long chapter for your reading pleasure, and I hope it will hold you guys over for a while. I also hope that your year will be better than mine is so far. **

**I have no idea when the next update's coming. Just stay tuned, I guess. Sorry! Love you all! **

* * *

"That's your plan?" Gamora demanded, incredulous at the Raccoon's nerve. "That will never work!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Rocket said, sarcasm quite evident in his voice. "I forgot that you were the expert on prison escapes. Please, tell me what _your_ genius plan is, and remind me how _you_ got us out of the Kyln."

Gamora exhaled angrily and crossed her arms. She refused to make eye contact with this obnoxious rodent - a rodent that, admittedly, knew much more about escaping prisons than she did. But her common sense firmly told her that his new plan was beyond ridiculous, and would probably result in Rocket's death rather than the group's escape.

Nevertheless, Rocket hadn't really failed them before. (Except when he tried to save her and Peter by destroying the Ravager ship, but that had been a misunderstanding.) She _should_ trust him, so she did not question him anymore.

Obviously seeing that blooming resolve, he reinforced it by making a point of his escape-artist knowledge. "Right. I forgot. I got us out of the Kyln, not you. So just trust me on this one."

A few moments before, Rocket had explained his grand plan for escape. Nevermind...grand was probably not the correct word to describe it. It was Rocket's "unbelievably simple and probably ineffective plan" that entailed so many holes and unpredictable variables that one would think that Peter had come up with it.

"So...here's what we're gonna do," Rocket had whispered to his fellow Guardians. "You saw that guard, right? He's arrogant - easily provoked. I'm gonna insult him until he comes in and tries to beat me up."

"Wow," Gamora had remarked. "A plan with an amusement factor. Nice going."

"I am Groot," Groot had added in, expressing his dislike of that plan.

"Please! Like I'd let that sissy touch me, let alone hurt me. Once he opens the doors to come get me, we bolt. Easy peasy," Rocket had continued indignantly.

Of course, to Gamora, that plan seemed _too_ easy - especially considering the elaborate plan they had once used to escape the Kyln. How could they just expect the guard to come in and leave the door wide open for them to escape? It just couldn't happen!

"I mean, we can add other factors in, of course," Rocket said. "The rest of you should pretend to be asleep when I provoke him, so the Guard doesn't feel too threatened or anything. And Drax should probably steal his uniform. That way, he can pretend to be escorting prisoners somewhere.

Drax's eyes widened and he suddenly looked very displeased. "I will have to wear a shirt?"

"Yeah."

"That is terrible news. I loathe shirts!" Drax wailed, shaking his head.

"Well, I hate sitting in prison cells. So deal with it," Rocket snapped. "I just hope you'll fit into the uniform. I mean...jeez...where's that skinny Terran when you need him?"

"And after Drax sneaks us out - despite the fact that he looks nothing like a Shi'arian - how will we leave? " Gamora was trying to move the conversation along. The last thing she needed was a debate between Rocket and Drax on the merits of wearing shirts.

"We can find some sort of Shi'arian police cruiser. Or the _Milano_, if it's impounded here," Rocket spitballed, scratching his furry chin once again. When he looked up as his fellow Guardians, he noticed the obviously doubtful expressions on their faces.

"Look," Rocket assured them. "We'll just have to keep our heads down and avoid bringing attention to ourselves. And without Quill, that should be plenty easy - he's the one with the taste for the theatrics. Trust me. We'll be out of here in no time."

Gamora sighed. "I suppose you're right."

Unfortunately, she didn't fully believe what she had said. But they would have to make the plan work - for Peter's sake.

* * *

_~ Peter Quill's (aka Star-lord's) PoV ~_

"_I'm your father._"

The words echoed around my brain for what felt like a thousand years as I struggled to make sense of them. My _father_? This guy...this kidnapping, thieving, and apparently loaded bag of & #%...was my _father_?

_What. The. #$%&_?

No, I simply couldn't believe it. This was a big mistake, or some sort of joke or mind game that the old man thought was funny. And it wasn't funny - not at all. And I thought almost _everything_ was funny.

Whatever the case - whatever the big idea was - I didn't care what he had to say. Because I was getting away from this stupid building, and this group of stupid guards with their stupid mind-game playing leader.

They were all so stupid. Honestly.

I cracked a joke to distract them - to make them think that I had no hope of escaping. But there was no humor behind my words; only bitterness and contempt. "'_No, I am your father._'"

"What?" the bearded man - or 'J'son,' as he had called himself - demanded, utterly confused at what I had said.

"You're quoting Star Wars, right? I mean, props to you if you are. Most of these alien bastards haven't even seen _that_ amazing little piece of cinematic history. But you still quoted it wrong. The line is: 'No, I am your father.' The contraction and the lack of the 'no' messed you up, but nice try," I rambled, sneaking glances around the room.

Some of the guards had electric spears slung over their backs, and there was another one of those large windows sitting only a few feet away. If I could get one of the spears, maybe I could use it to shatter the window…

Of course, jumping out of the window wasn't such a swell plan, either. I'd just end up falling hundreds of feet to my death.

Hmm...

When I looked back at J'son, I saw him shaking his head disapprovingly. There was barely contained aggravation in his eyes, but I got the impression that the anger was not directed at me. Otherwise, the guy probably would have smacked me, which is what I probably would have done if the the situation was reversed.

Then again, I would never go around kidnapping people just to pull a nasty prank on them. And not just any prank - the 'here's your long-lost dad' prank. Because the whole kidnapping thing wasn't emotionally scarring enough.

"This isn't a joke," J'son told me sternly, crossing his arms.

"Um," I said, looking at the ceiling exaggeratedly, "You're the one quoting Star Wars, not me."

He sighed. "Listen to me- "

It seemed like he was about to go into a big explanation, which might be the opportunity I was looking for. In my experience, old guys always liked to go into long stories, so I figured he was probably settling down to give me an oral history of his past - which I was totally _not_ in the mood for. But a long story meant that he was getting comfortable...letting his guard down. It was the perfect time to bolt.

I pushed the old man to the side (it seems like I had been doing that sort of thing a lot lately), and he was pretty much flung to the ground as I made a beeline for the nearest guard. Those Imperial dumbasses were too focused on their poor wounded leader, exclaiming, "Sir" or "Your Majesty" and a bunch of questions regarding his well-being.

I managed to wrangle a spear from a guard, resolved that jumping out of window was better than listening to J'son, before about ten of them grabbed me. They slammed me against the shiny floors, causing pain to shoot up my spine and forcing the air out of my lungs. I heard the spear skid away, probably having been kicked by one of the guards.

Obviously my timing hadn't been right, but it had seemed right in theory.

Suddenly, the man - J'son, who had apparently gotten to his feet - was shoving his way through the group of guards that had surrounded me.

"I said not to hurt him!" he screamed, his face contorted by anger. As a result of his outburst, the guards' grip on me slackened, and many of them stood up to bow their heads in shame.

Actually...this would have been the perfect time for an escape attempt if I hadn't been so dazed. Even a guy like me - whose spine hadn't been shattered by a falling Badoon - could get seriously stupefied after having my head slammed against what felt like marble. My skull hurt really freaking bad, and everything was muddled.

In my stupor, I couldn't understand why this guy - a guy who was probably freaking _royalty_, given the whole "your majesty" thing - was doing this to me. What had I done to deserve it? I had never even been to Spartax throneworld before, so there was no reason for its ruler to be so angry at me.

Surprisingly, J'son extended his hand to me, probably hoping to help me up. "Are you alright?" he asked, much to my disbelief.

"Pshh," I huffed, pushing the hand away. "Please. I could beat the crap out of every one of these guys. I was just testing them."

Something flashed in J'son's eyes - something akin to annoyance, but it felt far more dangerous. Still, I wasn't about to let some royal #$% freak me out, even if he was my dad (which I doubted he was).

I stumbled to my feet unsteadily, and the guards actually backed away from me - like they were afraid of hurting me. And you know what? That hurt my self-esteem more than when they were intent on beating me up. I mean, jeez - I was freaking Star-lord, a Guardian of the Galaxy. I had held an Infinity Gem! My friends and I had defeated Ronan the Accuser! I didn't need to be coddled!

"Your mother's name is - was - Meredith Quill," J'son stated, his voice lowered, but still patronizing. "She lived on Terra, in some place called _Missouri_."

The mention of my mother's name made me snap, and I lunged at him. "You don't know _anything_!" I screamed as the guards struggled to hold me back. Despite the firm grip they maintained, I noticed that their stupid hands were still gentle, which was plain _insulting_. These jerks weren't even willing to fight me, even when I was itching to hit something. It was infuriating!

J'son continued as if nothing had occurred. "I crash landed on Earth many years ago - I was one of the first aliens to even set foot on that planet. Your mother nursed me back to health, convinced that I was some sort of angel. During my stay there...you were...conceived.

"I was forced to leave, though - to return to my planet. However, years later, I anonymously hired the ravagers to bring you and your mother to me, but as you probably know...that was ultimately a mistake. But I _am_ your father, and you _are_ my son."

"Liar!" I snarled, trying to ignore the fact that his story was similar to the one I had sometimes heard my mother retell. Of course, in her sickness, I could never tell whether the story had been fabricated. Even in my younger years, I had been more than skeptical of the things she had said, and I had trusted her much more than I trusted this man. I wasn't about to believe anything he had said to me. He was a _kidnapper_, after all.

Thus, my thoughts swirled angrily in my head, disgusted that anyone could throw my past in my face so cruelly.

"What reason would I have to lie?" J'son challenged. "To send my personal guards light-years away to collect a man I had never met? There would be no point. If you were not my son, what could I _possibly_ gain from this encounter?"

He was such a...he had no right...he…he...had a point. In truth, I had wondered about his rationale non-stop, confused at his motivation in kidnapping me. Indeed - I had never done anything to this man. I had never even met him. And yet...he knew more about my past than even Yondu had bothered to learn. So where was this information coming from, if it was not from first-hand experience?

"The Nova Corps's records say that you're half-Terran, half-'_something else_,'" he said, still staring at me with intensity and irritation. But he could tell that his words were gradually persuading me, and his voice softened even more. "I am that '_something else_.'"

I stopped struggling, staring at J'son - my father? - with a sort of cautious disbelief. Could it be…? No, no, how could it?

But if he was truly my dad - which I'm not saying he was - then there was a question that had burned in my mind for years. And I figured I'd ask this guy anyway, just to get some closure on the issue, whether he told the truth or not.

"Then where _the hell_ were you?" I seethed, my anger returning just as quickly as it had disappeared. Even if this guy was my dad, he still had a lot to answer for, and I wasn't the type that forgives easily. Hell - maybe I hated him _more_ now that I suspected he was my dad.

"What?"

"You heard me!" I barked. "My mom - the woman who talked about you like you were a freaking angel - died sick and frail and weak. And you did nothing! You weren't there, and I know that you could have saved her!"

J'son's expression became very guilty and pained, but that was the reaction I was hoping for. I mean, what had he expected, exactly? For me to welcome him into my life with open arms? No. Way.

In his shame, he began stammering, the words sounding more like assurances to himself than to me. "I did not...I was not aware of her condition…"

"Oh wait. How about this one: where were you when I was kidnapped by the space pirates - who were apparently in _your_ employ? They wanted to _eat me_, for God's sake, and you just didn't have a problem with that? At all?

"Actually, here's an even better one: Why did _you_ kidnap me? I mean, you sent some mysterious guards to just steal me away, regardless of what they might do to my friends or my reputation! What the $# & is _wrong_ with you? I mean..._what the $# &_!"

While my outburst had actually improved my emotional state, it seemed like it had seriously affected J'son's for the worse.

Good. He _should_ feel guilty. I mean, If this guy really _was_ my dad, then I wanted him to see my many years' worth of bitterness, and I wanted him to start making amends for it, if that was possible. And if he _wasn't_ my dad, then hopefully he could see that this whole stunt was pointless, since the whole 'father' thing definitely wasn't building any trust between us.

"I don't think you understand," he said, shaking his head - the patronizing behavior had returned, ladies and gentlemen.

"Then enlighten me."

He suddenly became very angry as well, which wasn't what I had expected. "I thought you were dead, damn it! You and Meredith both! When I sent Yondu, that was what he had reported to me. How could I have known?"

"I don't know...MAYBE YOU COULD HAVE GONE YOURSELF? You may be royalty or some # &$, but picking up your son and former lover might call for a personal visit, don't you think? But you know what? My life with the ravagers...my kidnapping…it doesn't even matter right now. Because mom would be dead either way. You just… you should have stayed! You should have brought her with you…to save her!"

My voice broke, which was really embarrassing and annoying. I hated when that happened - it made me sound and feel weak. But I just couldn't help it, because what I said was true. I had seen alien technology in my travels, and I _knew_ it could have saved my mother. But she had died because he had left her behind, and I could not forgive him for that.

J'son's face hardened and his jaw clenched. There was a vein protruding from his forehead, and once again, I thought he might slap me. But the outcome was the same as last time - he did not lay a finger on me.

After all, he was the one he probably wanted to slap, not me. I wasn't the one who could have save my mom. J'son was. And despite everything, he probably had loved her - but I assumed he had loved his throne even more, which is why he had left her to die.

"If you think that I do not regret what happened - that I do not mourn her every day - then you are wrong. But I had responsibilities to an entire _empire_, Peter. I could not afford to be selfish...to run off to Earth. And maybe you can't understand that, being who _you_ are. But back then, I knew what my priorities are, and raising a family - despite it being something I wanted - was not something I could do."

He turned his back to me before continuing. "But if you think I forgot...or recovered from what happened so easily, then you're also wrong about that. I could not bring myself to marry again...to have another child. Not when you had both paid so heavily for my negligence."

He faced me once again, his expression now pleading. But there was still something in his eyes that I didn't quite like. Maybe it was the fact that they were _my_ eyes, but with none of my intentions and personality, that was so disquieting.

"I _understand_ that you are angry at me. I _understand_ that you feel threatened. But bringing you here - that was done for your safety. I wouldn't let another Yondu come along and hold you for ransom, or worse. But more than anything, I want you to stay, even for a little while. Just long enough to explain myself. Please."

I was still so very mad at him, and I doubted that an explanation would help. On the other hand, he was my dad, and I felt like I owed him _something_, even though my bitterness told me otherwise.

But what did I have to lose? It didn't seem like he wanted anything from me, and he certainly seemed dead-set against hurting me. Besides, if I refused, this might end up being one of those huge 'what-if' moments. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life wondering.

"Fine," I agreed petulantly, ripping myself out of the guards' grip. "And you better have one hell of a comprehensive explanation, or I'm outta here."

"I'll try my best."

"And I want a new room, by the way. I've had enough fire for one day."

"That was your fault," J'son reminded me impatiently.

"I only did it because you _freaking_ kidnapped me. Did you just expect me to sit quietly?"

"I expected you to act civilized, but obviously I was wrong."

I smirked at him, taking pride in the fact that I was the exact opposite of what he had hoped for in a son. It was small, rather insignificant revenge, but it still meant something to me. In truth, it felt good to know I wasn't as horrible as I currently thought my father was.

But then again...I had spent the day setting rooms on fire and shoving old men out of my way, and before that, I had stolen more things than I could count. My conscience wasn't exactly squeaky clean.


End file.
